A Royal Birkdale strategy must be roughed out

Royal Birkdale, which is hosting its ninth British Open, quite likely is England's finest links course, with sweeping dunes and large, well-bunkered greens. (Paul thomas/Associated Press)

SOUTHPORT, England - With gentle breezes and a great warmth serving as the perfect accompaniment to a day with very little commotion, the marshals out at the 17th hole at Royal Birkdale were free to regale their visitors from across the pond with some of the important nuances of links golf.

There was the gorse, of course, which is a bush and at all costs, the marshals said, you needed to avoid it. Not that the heather was much better. Stay clear of that thick, gnarly plant, too, they insisted.

"And what about that? What do you call that?"

The visitor pointed to an area well left of the 17th green that seemed like a place not to venture, either, though it didn't look like anything he had seen back home.

"Oh, that. That's rough," said the marshal. His colleagues agreed, though being faithful women golfers of great passion, they were quick to point out that the Birkdale rough wasn't going to cause fits for players this week, at least not like it would if they were playing at the marshals' home course, the Southport & Ainsdale Golf Club.

An inquiry was made and it was explained with the point of an outstretched arm that Hillside Golf Club was immediately adjacent to Royal Birkdale and that "the S & A," as it is affectionately known, was next door to Hillside. Thus were there 54 spectacular holes of seaside links in close proximity, though if you stretched your borders out a little farther, you also could have quick jaunts over to Formby Golf Club and to Hesketh or West Lancashire, or even up to quaint and cozy Southport Municipal, all of which have contributed to this town being called "England's Golf Capital."

All the marshals seemed proud of that, though with a glance to their right, back toward the tee, they determined that a golfer was coming. Indeed, here marched Australian Nick O'Hern straight down the fairway, without clubs. Armed only with a yardage book, O'Hern stopped some 100 yards shy of the green at the 17th, and jotted down some notes, presumably about the three pot bunkers . . . or maybe he was offering himself reminders about the three-tiered green that ran 38 yards deep . . . it's so hard to tell when the landscape is a links course, where the mysteries are many, the challenges greatest, and the ambiance timeless.

Into such a mix comes the 137th Open Championship, which is the only name it requires given that it dates to 1860, but as if it could be confused with other tournaments that have cropped up through the decades in other countries and other continents, it is referred to more commonly as the British Open. Call it that, or call it by its rightful name, just so long as attention is called to a championship that is like no other, even if it is accompanied by unsettled weather and travel woes that annually annoy.

The former was not an issue yesterday, for after the longest and wettest stretch of spring and summer moisture than the citizenry can recall, the resplendent sunshine and 70-plus degree heat was roundly embraced. But the latter . . . well, Rod Pampling was proof positive that traveling brings with it nuisances that were never an issue before the Wright Brothers had that brilliant idea. His luggage had yet to arrive from Friday night's flight from Atlanta, which is why he was walking Royal Birkdale with just a borrowed sand wedge and a couple of golf balls, while wearing clothes that were the property of his swing coach, Gary Edwin, who walked along.

"Nothing is mine," said Pampling, though the berth into his sixth Open Championship most definitely is earned through being one of the top 50 in the world rankings. Come Thursday, Pampling will tee it up against 155 others in hopes of a prize (the claret jug) that cost but 30 pounds to make, though it provides priceless rewards. For many, the storyline that will resonate this week is a major championship that for the first time since the summer of 1996 does not involve Tiger Woods, his recuperation from reconstructive surgery to his left knee putting him on the sideline. But as often is the case with the world's oldest golf championship, the landscape is the most flavorful part of the story.

Take a bow, Birkdale.

Like 67 other courses from Canada to Australia - though mostly in the United Kingdom - Birkdale was designated for distinction by the royal family. Though the club dates to 1889, it did not achieve "royal" stature until 1951, and while some will consider a smudge on its résumé the fact that it is only hosting its ninth Open Championship, the flip side is this: It did not join the rotation until 1954, which means that in the last 55 summers, Royal & Ancient officials have brought their coveted show to the west coast of England with regularity. That is the highest compliment it can pay.

In return, Birkdale has produced a champions' list that speaks volumes for the talent with which it takes to navigate these links. Men who have in their era ruled the British Open - Peter Thomson (twice) and Tom Watson - have won at Birkdale, as have Arnold Palmer, Lee Trevino, and Johnny Miller, Hall of Famers at each turn of the head. Ian Baker-Finch, at the time a player of world-class talent, won in 1991 and Mark O'Meara, at his prime a splendid ball-striker, prevailed in 1998 when it was last staged here.

While it may lack the historic significance of St. Andrews, the majestic beauty of Turnberry, or the brute toughness of Carnoustie, it is argued that Birkdale is England's grandest links course and unquestionably one of the very best in the rota.

Cut into big, sweeping sand dunes across a layout that will be stretched to 7,113 yards, Birkdale's holes create almost 18 amphitheaters from which to watch players negotiate firm ground and 123 devilish bunkers.

True, it is a seaside course, but the water is miles away and never while you play can you steal a glance at it - which is perhaps just as well, for the gorse and the heather and the rough and the coveted "brown" wispy grass are challenges that require your utmost attention.

And that's to say nothing about the weather, which may have been perfect yesterday, but so what?

It was a practice day and you could get by with borrowed clothes and someone else's sand wedge.

Jim McCabe can be reached at jmccabe@globe.com.